


Idroforbia

by MetaphoricalBees



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale has a phobia, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley Tries (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Denial, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eye Trauma, Gen, Googling medical symptoms, Ignoring problems will fix them right?, Injury, Is this angst, Mental Health Issues, Mild Angst, Misunderstandings, No beta we fall like Crowley, Not Beta Read, Phobias, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The struggle of accepting help, Trauma, hydrophobia, mental health, not very angst, since this is a good omens fic ducks play an important part, slight eyesight injury, temporary eyesight injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27349669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaphoricalBees/pseuds/MetaphoricalBees
Summary: The rain poured down, as if it was catching up on several weeks' worth all at once. For all he knew, it was. Could clouds hold off raining for a while and go later when they felt like it? Humans can, and it had been rather dry recently. Maybe clouds can too.(After the trials, Aziraphale develops hydrophobia. Misunderstandings ensue.)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Good Omens fandom has inspired me so much with all of the stories and artwork, that I decided to have a go myself.  
> Constructive criticism welcome, but please be gentle as this is the first story I've written in a very long time.

It was a dark and stormy night, but it shouldn't have been. Crowley scowled at the distorted sky of raindrop smears on his glasses as his pace increased.

Typical. He had been looking forward to seeing Aziraphale. (Crowley always did.) He must have been too content, even the sky noticed and tried to ruin it.

The rain poured down, as if it was catching up on several weeks' worth all at once. For all he knew, it was. Could clouds hold off raining for a while and go later when they felt like it? Humans can, and it had been rather dry recently. Maybe clouds can too.

At the bookshop in Soho, the door is locked. It had never been locked for him before. Doors normally knew better than that, knew not to get in his way, knew what happened to plants that misbehaved. (In the end, doors are nothing but wood, but trees, but plants. Same thing. They remember what they were before they were Felled.)

A snap of miracle rang through the air, and he was finally out of the weather's reach.

"Angel?"

The bookshop was still, a smudged and tinted collection of memories and welcomings that were usually more... well, welcoming than this. Soft curls of hair and bright eyes would come peaking around from behind a bookcase, and invitations both comfortable and familiar would abound. Not this time.

The dented echoes of his steps thudded into paperbacks as he scanned the area.

In the back room sat the dust-coated angel, with a novel in his lap.

"Hey Angel," Crowley started. The angel did not move. Must be a good book.

Crowley sprawled out on the couch, into the cosy nest of blankets he had left there from a prior visit.

"I was thinking of going on holiday, it's been a while. Might head to Rome, want to come with?"

This was a game that he played. It involved coming up with more and more farfetched things to do and say, to see what he could get away with before the angel noticed him. The record was thirty minutes, today was possibly the day to top that.

A few minutes passed. If he squinted the right way, he could even make out extra-dimensional dust on the ethereal essence of Aziraphale's wings.

A frown creased behind sunglasses. "Did I ever tell you how I invented bean bags? Still rather proud of that. You think it's comfy, then bam!" his hands mimicked an explosion, "you're trapped there." He sat up and leaned closer. "Not to mention when they burst, you get beans everywhere. The bag takes up so much space too."

Still no reaction from the celestial statue. Crowley re-sprawled into a more attentive yet still "Devil may care" tangle of limbs, eyes focused on the angel.

"'Course, that's nothing on what that Anti-Christ kid's been up to. Heard that a pirate ship appeared in the village square. Apparently, the crew caused a mutiny at the town hall and took over the Residents' Association!" Laughing, he wondered how the previous RA members would enjoy their new lives on the high seas.

Aziraphale hadn't moved, not even to turn the page. There was as much dust covering the pages of the book as the angel.

Hands twitching, moving slow and gentle, Crowley pulled the book from the angel's lap. Aziraphale kept staring down to his lap, oblivious.

He glanced at the book (Cloudstreet by Tim Winton - not one Crowley recognised) and set it aside.

Aziraphale's hands were facing palms up. Perfectly manicured nails and soft skin. It had been so long since he had held them, so long since it had been normal social behaviour to do so. His own hands itched at the memory. He moved to relieve that itch.

"Oh, Crowley!"

The contact was all too fleeting. But as his hands pulled back to a more acceptable distance, disappointment gave way to the weight in Crowley's chest lifting.

"You ok Angel?"

Aziraphale's eyes flitted between Crowley and the book. "Yes, dandy."

Yellow eyes didn't move behind the tinted glasses, they simply waited for him to continue.

"...Sorry, I was just thinking. Got lost in thought." Fingers fidgeted around a golden ring as Aziraphale looked elsewhere.

"Right. Well, I was going to suggest going out for a picnic and some stargazing, but considering the weather..." A limb gestured vaguely at the window.

Aziraphale flinched at the movement. If Crowley hadn't been watching him so closely (as always), he would have missed it.

The angel suddenly stood up, fussing the demon towards the door.

"No bother, I'm rather busy today, sorry, I'll see you another day, sorry again."

Before he can form a coherent thought at the shock, Crowley is out the door. The angel had never pushed him out in such a direct manner before.

He stuck his arm in the doorway as it's shutting.

"You alright?"

A blink. Aziraphale inhales sharply.

"Ah yes, tickety-boo!" He manages to stumble out, as he almost slams the door.

The sign firmly sets to 'closed', and Crowley stands there dumbfounded, processing what just happened. The bookshop looks dark and empty.

Well, that was a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that it's posted, I should figure out a posting schedule, right? Any suggestions?
> 
> [Talk to me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MetaphoricalBee)


	2. Chapter 2

"You will not form a spot, you will not dare!" Crowley growled as he paced through his plants, muttering curses as he worked.

Putting the appropriate amount of fear in his floral minions took time, patience, and dedication. However, the success of doing so was undeniable, and dealing with them helped him think.

He still hadn't figured out what had been up with the angel yesterday. The whole thing had been weird - even the way the rain stopped almost immediately while Aziraphale ushered him out. It was as if someone had flicked a light switch and turned the storm off.

No sign of rain now, though. Maybe he should try to go for that picnic with Aziraphale today instead? He might have stopped being... whatever he was being.

The plan decided, he headed to the phone, plant mister still in hand.

It always took a while for the angel to answer his phone - another technique for avoiding customers most likely.

Eventually, the other end picks up.

"Ah, hello, A.Z. Fell and Co. Bookshop - "

"It's me."

"Oh, Crowley! Hello dear, how are you?"

Crowley could hear him fidgeting with the phone wire.

"Good. Great. Peachy." He leaned against the desk. "Listen, how about we meet up? Go for lunch, my treat." He aimed the mister at the plants through the doorway for low level menacing as he spoke.

"Oh, that sounds lovely! I was feeling a bit peckish."

"Great, I'll finish up with the plants and head over."

"How are the darlings?"

Crowley glared at said 'darlings', in case any of them had heard. Maybe he should move the landline further away from them, out of earshot.

"Don't call them that, they'll get greedy. They're acceptable, for now. Just giving them a bit of water, it's been so dry recently..."

He could no longer hear the phone wire being fidgeted with.

"Angel?"

"Oh! Sorry dear, I just remembered - I have a... an auction to go to now! A very old book, must go!" His voice sounded off, almost as if he was putting the phone down as he was talking.

"Wait wait wait - how about tomorrow?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, tomorrow's fine. Cheerio!"

He hung up. The apartment was a little emptier, a little darker. The plants shivered a little more.

Aziraphale is still weird then. But at least he agreed to lunch tomorrow, so that's something. Crowley went back to his plants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I intended to post the chapters every few days. ...How has it already been 5 days since the last one? Maybe I should set myself an alarm for the next one. 
> 
> [Talk to me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MetaphoricalBee)


	3. Chapter 3

It did not end up being a picnic, but lunch was nice. Lunch was normal. Well, as normal as lunch between ethereal and occult beings ever was. Lunch was many other words of varying lengths, none of which attempted to explain the oddity of the previous two days.

They had just finished dessert (Crowley had nothing, Aziraphale had an apparently scrumptious slice of chocolate ganache) when Crowley stretched his legs.

"Another sunny day. London doesn't know what to do with itself."

"Hmm. Quite." Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth with the napkin. "So, what are you in the mood for now?"

"Alcohol!" He grinned.

Aziraphale sighed. "My dear, it's far too early for that. How about a walk?"

"Fine." Crowley stood up. "Park?"

Aziraphale looked down. "Um, no. How about the art gallery instead?"

"What? I mean, sure, but it's been ages since we fed the ducks, what's wrong with the park?"

Crowley enjoyed feeding the ducks. He always had. Was it the right time of year for ducklings to appear? He hoped so. Throwing breadcrumbs to ducks (discreetly miracled to peas once they hit the water) while chatting with the angel was one of his favourite pastimes.

Aziraphale was still looking resolutely down into his lap.

Crowley stood behind Aziraphale's chair, his hands on the back of the seat.

"What's wrong with the park?" He repeated.

Aziraphale swallowed.

"Nothing! I'd just rather go to the art gallery, so if it's all the same to you-"

He stood up and set off before Crowley could say anything.

Well, that settled it. They were definitely going to the park.

Crowley caught up to Aziraphale, grabbed his elbow, and started pulling.

"What are you doing?" Aziraphale tried pulling out of his grip.  
(It is worth noting at this point that while Aziraphale is Much Stronger than Crowley and could easily get free, should he need to, the angel considers it impolite to use said strength against him.)

"Want to go to the art gallery, don't you? Well, I know a shortcut."

"A shortcut?"

"Yup." He popped the 'P' for good measure. "It's through the park."

He dragged the angel up to the gates, who seemed to grow slower and heavier with each step. He wasn't pulling back, there was no force pulling against Crowley. But it did get to a point where he was sure he was pulling a very reluctant boulder up-hill. A very loud boulder.

"Now, really! What in blazes do you think you are playing at? Let go of me this instant, you dem-"  
Aziraphale stumbled on his words (and his feet) as he was abruptly free of the demonic pull towards the park.

Crowley crossed his arms.

"Well, I think I'm getting you to the art gallery by going through the park."

"Well, don't!"

"Why not?"

"It's perfectly obvious why not!" Aziraphale bristled, his hands fidgeting at his waistcoat.

"Nope. You're not making any sense." Crowley started circling.

"Angel, I have no idea what your problem is. What's wrong?"

"Is it not enough for me to say I do not want to go there?"

"Not when you're acting like this. Answer the question, Angel."

"Honestly, you're turning this into a complete nightmare. It's no use, you're a demon, you'd never understand!"

Ouch. Crowley was glad he had his glasses on.

"Bit holier than thou, that. Of course I don't understand, you've not said anything!"

"I have said plenty, not that you have respected my wishes in any case!" Aziraphale, hands wringing, made to walk past Crowley and leave.

"Wait!"

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm, hands clenched and knuckles white.

A blindingly bright flash appears (is it a halo? It's too bright to tell), and a chorus of voices sing out in unison, "Leave me be!"

Then the flash fades, leaving the after-image of strange shapes still burning in Crowley's vision. He covers his eyes with both hands, willing them better.

"Oh dear... I didn't mean to... I should go."

Quiet, hurried footsteps announce the angels' departure.

Crowley, if asked, would say that the tears were just his corporation dealing with the aftershocks of light damage. Definitely just because of that and nothing else. There was no one there to ask him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Talk to me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MetaphoricalBee)


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley sits on their bench in the park, alone.

His eyesight is still blurry around the edges, and he cannot see the ducks playing or the water as it sparkles. It was the first time he had borne witness to the true form of an angel since he Fell. In the secret recesses of his mind, he knows he's lucky he's not blind.

There are too many (miraculously oblivious) humans around. Children laughing, adults eating ice cream, government agents spreading breadcrumbs and secrets. What he wouldn't give for some rain right now. To clear them all away so he could mope in peace.

Crowley liked the rain.

He liked that it annoys everyone and ruins people's days. He had spent a good deal of mirth-filled afternoons sitting in cafes, watching and cackling as people forgot their umbrellas, got splashed by cars, and ruined their clothes. There's a lot you can do with rain, to ruin days and rain on parades. (Even literally, on occasion. After all, the expression did not appear without reason.)

Rain also reminds him of the first storm, of being under an angel wing. Of surprising safety, of trust, and of friendship.

A sigh gently dared to make its way out of him and into the ether.

He wondered what had happened to the rain. What had happened to Aziraphale. Neither had been right since Armageddidn't. If by some odd twist of fate wherein he had enough say and power over the fate of either, and yet not enough in that he must only choose one; he would rather have the angel back then the rain. The plants can always be watered by hand. In this state, he did not understand what the angel needed to flourish.

He stared on moodily until a clumsy, duck-shaped thought crashed into the blurry surface of his... mind-pond-thing. (Metaphors weren't his bucket of bees.)

Neither had been right since Armageddidn't. In fact, the day that Aziraphale had been at his most unusual (excluding today) was the only day P.C. ("Post Apocanope") that it had rained. Crowley remembered the way Aziraphale had flinched when he mentioned the storm.

Come to think of it, he had gone quiet over the phone yesterday when Crowley had mentioned misting the plants. And there had been no drink for the angel today at lunch. But why the park then?

Nearby a duck quacked. Oh, right. Pond. Lots of water there.

Crowley dragged his fingers through his hair, accidentally distracting a young runner as they were passing and causing them to trip. He didn't notice.

A demon being scared of water made sense. No self-respecting demon survived for long without developing a healthy wary disposition on all things aqua. With no way to determine whether water was holy (unless being accompanied by someone disposable), demons avoided most water as a precaution. Which also went a long way to explain the olfactory area of torture in Hell.

An angel, however, while of the same stock was a different being entirely. They can bless water and make it holy, it doesn't affect them. At least, not in the way it does demons. It would not surprise Crowley in the slightest if it somehow made things better for them. Had Aziraphale ever tried to brew tea using holy water? What would it taste like? Would it be holy before or after he 'boiled the Hell out of it'? Is that actually how they made holy water? What would happen if they tried to make juice holy? If he ever wanted the answers to these questions, he would need to focus on solving the current angelic conundrum.

He slipped his phone from his pocket and did what any human does when they don't know the answer. He googled it.

(Crowley has had a lot of success in tormenting humans with the internet. He was particularly proud of the phenomenon of "typing a symptom into Google, only for it to state that you have cancer". Even after all this time and all his experience he still marvels both at how remarkable and how remarkably dense humans can be when they choose.)

"Let's see... 'avoiding rain'?".

After watching a few videos of gorillas avoiding rain ("bloody big brains, they've got"), he tried a few more searches.

'Person avoiding rain'.

'Avoiding drinks'.

'Weird around water'.

.... Perhaps he wasn't being human enough about this. They liked doing medical things in Latin, didn't they? (Crowley has secretly always wondered if that was one of Aziraphale's achievements. He did always say how much he liked that language.)

He searched 'idroforbia'.

This search revealed two things.

One was that language had changed on him again, and even though idroforbia was a perfectly good word, it was "hydrophobia" in Latin.  
('Idroforbia' was a Middle English word, not Latin. Dead languages tended to blur together after a while for Crowley.)

The second and in Crowley's opinion, more important revelation was that all the searches were now taking about rabies. Perplexed, he read on.

Symptoms include:

  * Agitation (" _Check_ ")
  * Anxiety (" _Check, although that's not new_ ")
  * Confusion (" _Who has to be confused? Do I count?_ ")
  * Irritability or Aggressiveness (" _Big check_ ")
  * Weakness or paralysis (" _He was definitely frozen the other day, check_ ")
  * Fear of water.



His leg was bouncing. He needed to move, to do something, to feel like he was taking action somehow. His eyes were sore still, but he could see well enough. (If he bumped into anyone, he could always claim it as part of his public nuisance quota.) He pushed himself up from the bench and started pacing around the park.

Can angels get rabies? How would he even have done so? When could he have got bitten?

He passed by the ice cream stand that they would normally visit together.

....The hellhound. Would that have rabies?

He didn't remember Aziraphale going anywhere near the Anti-Christs' dog, but the timing fits too well. Had he missed it in all the confusion? Must be it.

He followed the path, not even registering the brass band setting up as he passed.

Ok, so he's got rabies. Obviously, he hasn't been able to miracle it away, or he would have by now. Hurt that he hasn't asked for help, maybe he's embarrassed?

Crowley went back to his phone. No matter. It's time to find out how to cure rabies.


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale was having a good day. He had not sold a single book, nor had he experienced any... untoward reactions.

Previously, he didn't label days as good or bad. But certain circumstances - in this case, the aftermath of the little Armageddon that couldn't - have resulted in an increased number of bad days. He found that the bad days got worse if he didn't manage and plan accordingly.

He did not know why he was having bad days. (This statement is not correct. He knew why. It just made little sense.)

Logically, he knew it was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. Best not to draw attention to it, surely it will right itself once given enough time. He straightened his waistcoat.

Today at least was a good day. An ideal day for sharing, assuming Crowley was as willing as he was to pretend the encounter outside the park never occurred. He glanced at the clock.

Excellent, he could invite Crowley over and they could settle into the seating area and work through his wine collection. A familiar routine. Familiar is safe. Yet his chest felt tight and his throat seemed swollen, threatening imminent difficulty to breathe.

"Oh, come now," he muttered to his corporation, heartbeat increasing. "You're being ridiculous."

Logic did not prevail. Drinks were out. He sat at his desk and placed his head in his hands.

Why did every activity on this blessed planet seem to involve... that.

A phone call would do. Yes, no way that could go wrong.

"Hello dearest," no, too familiar.  
"Hello damned demon," still no, too formal.  
"Hello Crowley, how are you?" yes, that will do.

The plan decided, and the first line rehearsed, he stood up and headed over to the phone.

* * *

Crowley was not having a good day.

50 tabs deep in his browser, he had found nothing that he wanted to find.

> _'...there's no effective treatment. Though a small number of people have survived rabies, the disease usually causes death.'_

He couldn't do this again - he'd already lost the angel once in flames. Who knows what would happen when he discorporated? It was hard enough getting a new body when you were still on the payroll. He remembered the grin on Gabriel's stupid face when he sentenced him to oblivion. Aziraphale's chances of recorporation were less than nonexistent.

The phone rang out through his apartment, and the world around him blurred. Aziraphale never rang him first, only if it was urgent. But no one else ever rang. It had to be him. The air was suffocating. He grabbed the phone.

"Hold on, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What? No!"

'No?' It must be serious.

"Alright, I'll be there even faster. Hold the phone away from your head and Don't Hang Up."

The angel's voice was quieter as he moved the receiver away. "Really dear, there's no need-"

For the ethereal and occult, size was merely an option. For the second time in recent memory, Crowley travelled down the phone line.

* * *

At the bookshop.

"Really dear, there's no need-"

A thunder-crack interrupted Aziraphale, along with the sudden appearance of wide yellow eyes.

"Crowley!"

Hands reached out, pushing the angel back into his chair and pinning him there.

"How do you feel?"

"What are you doing? Let me up!"

"It's ok Angel," Crowley said, although the tension in his arms disagreed, "Agitation is normal for someone in your state."

"My... state? Crowley, what on Earth are you talking about?" He stopped straining to move.

Crowley released him and stood back.  
"Confusion is common too. I figured it all out."

Crowley peered at him, searching.  
"You look pale. How do you feel? Faint?"

Faint didn't cover the half of it. He figured it out. He knows. Waves bubbled up through Aziraphale and caught in his throat. He hid his face and coughed.

An arm slung over his shoulders, soothing. So much physical touch from the demon recently... it was jarring.

"It's ok Angel. We'll figure this out. I'm not going anywhere."

If it was possible to discorporate from embarrassment, now would have been the time. Aziraphale hunched his shoulders closer. He'd been so careful to hide it. Not careful enough. Once again, he had failed.  
Something was shaking him. He looked up.

"Still with me, Angel? You didn't answer the question."

"Oh! Sorry. What did you say?"

Crowley frowned. "I said, did you ever go near the hellhound?"

Now it was Aziraphale's turn to frown.  
"No, why?"

"Well, you must have got in this state somehow! That's all I can think of."

Aziraphale was even more confused.

"Crowley, dear," he wanted to stop talking, the same way one wanted to stop watching a car crash. "What exactly do you think my state is?"

The demon started fidgeting.

"Well, you're sick. Real sick."

"Oh?"

Crowley hummed. "Yeah. I googled it. You remember Google, right? The way to search for things on the internet?" His hands gestured erratically as he spoke.

Aziraphale had vague memories of hearing about it before, but that did not seem important right now. "What did this Google tell you?"

"Angel, I know this will be hard to hear, but... you have rabies." His eyes shut, wincing.

Of all the things that he could have possibly said, that was one of the more unexpected.

Slowly, to not startle the demon (who was still doing his best to hide behind eyelids), Aziraphale pushed himself up out of the chair.

"I can assure you," gently now, go gently, "I do not have that." He tentatively placed a hand on Crowley's arm.

Yellow eyes opened, wet.

"But you do! The symptoms all fit!"

"And which symptoms would those be?"

"You've been acting odd, zoning out and pushing me away and getting angry and avoiding water!"

Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh in frustration. "Excellent symptom diagnosis, but the wrong conclusion."

Crowley tried to compose himself. "Angel, please sit back down. Don't strain yourself."

Aziraphale found himself back in the chair, with a blanket that miraculously wrapped him up rather tightly, making it difficult to move.

"Oh, honestly!"

"It's alright," (Crowley could not have sounded less alright if he tried), "Humans don't have a cure, but that's for them - I'll fix it somehow."

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the blanket folded itself up neatly on the arm of the couch. He stood up.

"I do not have rabies, Crowley! I'm fine, I can handle it!"

"'It?'"

There was a slight patter of rain against the window.

Oh, damn it - just what he needed. He clicked his fingers again. Crowley saw.

"Angel, did you stop the rain?"

(Oh dear.)

"Have you been stopping the rain this whole time?"

More silence, the strongest admission of guilt there was. Aziraphale shut his eyes to the world.

"Aziraphale..." Crowley's voice was getting closer.

"What is 'it'? Why are you scared of water?"

He sounded angry.

Somewhere deep inside Aziraphale, a dam of emotions creaked and groaned.

"Oh, it's ridiculous, you'll think is ridiculous, but even when it rains it happens and I know I'm terrible and-"

Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders, hands trembling.

"You are not terrible. We're on our side, remember? Tell me, what have you got to lose?"

The dam finally cracked.

"You! You were going to be destroyed utterly in Holy water and-"

With sudden clarity, he knew he had to leave before finishing that sentence, before the dam shattered all over Crowley.

He snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As they say in Adventure Time, and as Einstein once said, "Time is an illusion". How has it been six days already since I last posted!?  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)
> 
> [Talk to me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MetaphoricalBee)


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley was alone once again. This was getting to be a habit lately.

This time, however, he knew why.

Even better, he had an idea of what to do. Just need to find Aziraphale, but how hard could it be to find a hydrophobic angel?  
  


* * *

  
It's both very hard and very easy, it turns out.

Hard because he finally tracked him down in Mongolia, in the middle of the Gobi desert of all places.  
Easy, because he had built a replica of his bookshop there, right in the middle of nowhere.

It was a bright and sunny day. Too bright.

Once again, the door was locked. Instead of glaring until it opened, he knocked.

"Angel?"

He knocked again.

"Angel, I brought oysters!" He lifted them to show the door.

The silence grew incredulous.

"Why on Earth do you have oysters?" Aziraphale's voice demanded from the other side.

The demon shrugged.  
"Well, they're from the sea, aren't they?  
Figured it was the least wet water-thing we could try to start with."

Crowley could hear the angel fidgeting.

"Look," Crowley placed a hand on the door, "I don't really understand, but I get it. A trip to Hell is enough to give anyone some level of trauma." He closed his hand to a fist.

"Point is... the point is - you're not going to lose me. No matter how much it feels like it. Whatever's going on in your brain, even though it's not real, it's valid. So I'm staying right here, and while I have no idea how to cure phobias, I know a bit about causing them. We can work it out, together."

"But I-"

"No 'buts', Angel. You sound exhausted. All these miracles changing weather and avoiding water have got to be wearing on you. You're going to burn yourself out."

Aziraphale 'butted' anyway.  
"Every time I see water, I remember seeing your reflection in that bath. How they all grinned. What almost happened."

Crowley smiled sadly at the door.  
"It's ok, I'm ok, you're ok. No bath got me, and no water got me. We'll get you back to normal, one oyster at a time - soon you'll be right as rain!"

"... that is a truly unfortunate expression."

Crowley forced a grin.  
"Yeah, I know. Will you let me help?"

"I don't think I can." Aziraphale whispered.

"Ok, I'll wait. I'll be out here until your ready."

"What if I'm never ready?"

Crowley put his free hand in his pocket, aiming for nonchalant (and pretending he hit it since no one could see to state otherwise).

"Then I might add a couch out here and get comfy."  
  


* * *

  
Six months of lounging on a couch in the desert later, Aziraphale finally, tentatively, opened the bookshop door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we leave Aziraphale and Crowley. They still have a long journey of recovery ahead of them, but that is another tale, for another time perhaps. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you have any feedback, I would love to hear it.
> 
> [Talk to me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MetaphoricalBee)


End file.
